Second Best
by Andi Darling
Summary: Short one-shot written in response to The Return! Damon will always be the second best choice...


**A/N: **

_**Hey everyone, this is my first TVD fanfic. Please review and tell me what you all think! Enjoy!**_

**_Sincerely,_**

**_Jayne D.

* * *

_**

He felt something small shatter inside himself when Katherine let the poison slide from her lips. Something chipped off the whole of the broken bits that had been haphazardly sewn back together that was his heart.

"_The truth is…I've never loved you. It was always Stefan…"_

Damon had never been very good at keeping a tight fist on his emotions – but over the years he had learned that if he couldn't control them as much as he liked, he _could_ channel them into rage. And while turning them off completely was an option, one he was rather fond of – it took away from the full spectrum of emotions, and all the good ones (the ones that made you feel naturally high and alive) were in the parts you could shut off. But recently, it didn't feel _right _any more to go without the pain, or the things that could make you feel alive…or something stronger.

When Katherine uttered that sentence, it hurt. The pain spread from the shard that had chipped off, through his ligaments – surging up towards that thing in his chest that used to beat on its own. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like the respiratory organs were dying all over again.

Whiskey seemed like it would be a good therapist, but brandy was better.

* * *

The brandy was an exceptionally good therapist, and after a bottle and half made the pain not so terrible.

The decision to go to Elena's was one that was made in the haze of brandy and fine crystal. The ache in his chest seemed to lessen a little with the familiarity of her scent all around him, and the knowledge she was just in the next room… She was entirely comforting to him by just being in the same space.

He wasn't thinking when he called her a liar; his emotions were escaping his channel system. He couldn't be angry at her, not like he could with the rest of the world. He wasn't thinking when he forced a kiss on her, holding her face in his hands desperately; praying to whatever deity out there that would listen to him despite all the things in his past that she would change her mind.

* * *

Her hands were small compared to his as she pulled his hands down away from her face and held them between the two of them, earnestly searching his face for understanding – to make him understand how she **did care** about him, and for him! But that her heart would always belong to his brother.

"_It will always be Stefan!"_

_

* * *

_

That was when the rest of the pieces fell; the pieces that had been sewn together so precariously over the last few months – the thread that was holding them was plucked away by each word, each precious vowel and consonant. They fell, shattering on the cold rocks below.

Damon could hear Jeremy before he entered the room, and as he turned and looked at the kid – Damon could see the judgment in his eyes. The judgment was always there – and always the same. _Damon_ was the evil one. _**Damon**_was the bad brother; the _second best_ choice…

And not for the first time that night Damon made a snap decision.

He forced Jeremy against the wall, holding his head at a dangerous angle; uttering things that would frighten her, and her brother. He had no intention of actually following through on his threats…until he saw the ring on the kid's finger.

_Snap!_

It was quick, Jeremy didn't feel anything. Her scream and cries were enough to shatter anything that was left on the rocks – and immediately after he had killed Jeremy he regretted it.

He could hear her whispers of hatred as he went down the stairs, pulling on his jacket as he went.

"_I __**hate **__him." _Were the last words he heard as he left, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

The crystal in his hand was cold, and the brandy and blood mix was warm and sharp as it went down. The rage ebbed and flowed freely now; swallowing down the rest of his drink, he considered the glass in his hands.

Rage surged up inside of him as his grief dug deeper holes – and the crystal went sailing through the air end over end and smashed into the back wall of the fireplace. The sound was satisfying as the destruction was complete, and the flames surged for a second.

It cost him too much to feel; but the fact loomed over him like a crushing weight that he would always be second best to the woman he loved.


End file.
